


The Rock

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel Port Facebook Group (Supernatural), M/M, Meet-Cute, Prompt Fic, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Canadian Dean Winchester is stationed on a disputed island (a fucking rock really) where he to his surprise meets Danish soldier Castiel Novack. Alcohol will be consumed, the chilly winds cursed and new bonds will be formed but the island will still remain a fucking rock.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	The Rock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emblue_Sparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/gifts).



> A ficlet that was born from this prompt!
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=585666088946152&set=gm.2609392956005594&type=3&theater&ifg=1
> 
> I'm sorry if the military concepts and words are wrong. I did some research and received some help. Any inaccuracies (which I'm sure there are, are entirely my own). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this little creation. I appreciate every one of you. Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and as always your comments. They make me smile.

Dean squinted against the harsh wind but tears still formed in his eyes. Would it have killed the island to have some trees? He adjusted his jacket and absent-mindlessly stroked over the small flag on his left arm, just to check if it was there or if the cold wind had claimed that too. Island. He scoffed. Island was too nice of a word, it was more like a giant fucking rock in the middle of nowhere. 

An hour and a half and he would be on the other side of the island but he didn't feel like doing the walk today. It was too windy and it was not like the view would turn out to be any different on the other side. Just more ocean, crashing waves, and billowing clouds. He glanced at his watch. Only eleven more hours to go. His 7333 were chafing somewhat at the waist. Dean pulled his brows down and shook his head slightly. He was not surprised. Sure he still did all the exercises mandated but to be stationed here didn't do wonders with the stamina. Not that he really was stationed on the Rock; he just did a twelve-hour stint and then went back to his regular schedule. Just his luck that his name had been pulled twice. If he didn't know better, he would suspect captain Alistair had a bone to pick with him.

The Canadian flag was billowing in the wind or rather tossed around violently. The wind finally whipped some tears from Dean's eyes and he brushed them away with a gloved hand. Snow had not fallen, thankfully, but the wind was still cold and merciless and together with the ocean waves that whipped at the edges of the island it made for a miserable experience. Fuck it. Dean went to the Pit, which was as much a pit as the godforsaken rock was an island.

Sure enough, just a few steps away from the flag, a bottle of Danish schnapps rested, the clear liquid deceptive like water. There were rumors that the bottle had contained water one time much to the chagrin of the officer on duty at that time. Dean took off his glove and unscrewed the cap. A few seconds of unrelenting cold against his hand was worth the quick burn as the schnapps went down. God, it was disgusting. It had nothing against Canadian whiskey which was smooth and practically glided down the throat. This so-called alcohol, Dean had to forcefully swallow and there were no subtle notes on his tongue. No, the Danish schnapps was like an explosion of kerosene that punched its way down to his stomach where it threatened to corrode a hole straight through. Crazy fucking Danish people.

Join the army, people said, it would be fun and exciting, they said. Well, maybe no one had claimed it would be fun, but this was not even in the same zip code as mildly fun. 

Dean took another swig of the Devil's own liquor before screwing the lid back on. He looked at the flag again, before pulling on his gloves again. He'd kill to have a 2-4 instead. With a sigh, Dean started walking; the only thing keeping him company was the ever-persistent wind.

After ocean gazing for an hour and getting a free face scrub – thank you ocean winds – Dean slowly ambled back. 

Sometimes it was hard to determine time on the Rock when everything the eye met was the same. Smooth gray stone, and the blue of the skies and ocean. Supposedly, the island was disputed area between them and the Danish. What the fuck was there to dispute about? Just hand it over to the Danish and they could guard it against what he was not sure of. His mother's cooking was disputed, that didn't mean that it was good.

He was just grateful he wasn't supposed to be diplomatic and meet people. That was not really his thing and as much as Alistair disliked him, even he wouldn't want to chance things that much. Not that the Rock was that important. If it was, they wouldn't have sent Dean there. They'd set up base and man the stone twenty-four seven.

When he'd walked some distance, Dean noticed something amid the smooth stone. A shadowy figure that became more prominent with each passing step. A low curse escaped Dean's lips. This was a fucking first. His slow and measured steps suddenly had some bounce in them, and boredom made its way to curiosity.

Not that Dean had to be curious. It was pretty fucking clear who the guy was as he removed the Canadian flag and raised the Danish one; a white cross on a red field. As Dean approached, the soldier was kneeling on the ground, staring at the Pit before casting his attention on Dean. He had on a face mask which made Dean regret the decision not to bring his own. Sure, there was no snow but it was still colder than Alistair had said. Summer wasn't any more different than winter apparently on this rock.

“I never figured the Canadians to be cheap.” The Danish' voice was deep as he spoke loudly to be heard over the wind.

“We're not,” Dean argued back as he extended his hand. “I'm Lieutenant Dean Winchester.”

The Danish soldier removed his face mask and it was like perfection itself stared at him. His face was a billboard advertising his beauty for all the world to see. “Castiel, Sergeant if that matters.” He grinned as Dean sat down next to him. Who needed formalities, he was posted on a rock for crying out loud.

“So, what you mean about us being cheap?”

“No booze. And to think that was my only comfort, knowing I was heading here.” He smiled. “That I would have company was a surprise.”

“You have the schnapps.”

Castiel shrugged. “That is for the Canadians, a gift from us to you. We don't take what is not ours.”

An irrational wave of shame washed through Dean. It was just a bottle of whiskey. He took off his gloves and removed the small bottle from the side of his pants pockets. “The beauty of this place made me forget,” he answered with sarcasm. He handed the bottle over to Castiel.

Castiel looked around as if he saw the place for the very first time. A rock, the ocean, and the skies. It really wasn't much to see. “It really is beautiful.” Taking a swig of the whiskey, Castiel put the bottle back. “Doesn't have the same punch but it warms you on the way down.”

“I guess. So this is a first, the enemies meeting.”

Castiel just nodded. 

“What brings you here?” Dean tried.

“Duty. And my command sergeant.”

They were silent for some time. Not that Dean hadn't tried to say something else but Castiel had just hummed and gazed out at the landscape. 

The wind had settled as much as such a thing was possible. Dean was restless. Maybe it was the proximity to another human that had reminded him of such a thing as society being out there. Not that Dean _couldn't_ be alone, it was part of his work at times, a necessity but now they were two. Shouldn't they talk and bond over a bonfire? Or at least try to kill each other, sworn enemies as they were. Well, over this rock at least.

Dean waved a hand over's Castiel's face but the man remained unmoving, his eyes closed.

Sighing, Dean got up and pulled up Denmark's flag. He took the Canadian flag that was next to Cas and stuck it down into a crevice in the stone, wedging it in place.

“It's not straight,” Castiel said.

Dean squinted at Cas – motherfucking wind – before looking at the flag again. It was straight as a pole.

“I don't know what you're talking about. If that ain't straight, I am.”

An amused smile pulled at Cas' lips before he rummaged through his pockets. He took out a small sinker tied to a leather cord. Getting up, he dropped it near the flag and it was heavy enough that the cord didn't flap too much in the wind. It wasn't straight.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered before adjusting the angle.

“Mm, it's good now. Wouldn't want to anger the Canadians. I hear their wrath is fearsome.”

Dean wasn't sure if Castiel was mocking him or making fun of him. “Hey, you listen up – “

Castiel shook his head. “I'm sorry. Just a joke. I forget. We're supposed to be serious. This is a serious matter after all. “ He took another swig of the schnapps, sighing contently. He offered the bottle to Dean who just shook his head. 

He sat down next to Cas, almost so close that they touched. “Isn't it serious?”

“Yes, very. Disputed land. Please tell me, why is it so disputed?”

Dean would lie if he claimed he knew. Alistair had claimed it was classified but Dean claimed bullshit on that. He was sure Alistair had no clue either. Of course, Dean had heard rumors. “Because both our countries claim it. It's an important and strategic space for the naval – look man, I have no fucking clue. Why is it disputed?”

Cas shrugged. “No idea.”

Dean laughed out loud, his breath turning to cold willowy wisps as he exhaled.

“It's just a rock.”

“That we can agree on,” Dean said. “So, how long you been doing this?”

There was a gleam in Castiel's eyes as he answered. “Two hours or so. How long have you been nesting?”

Dean was starting to appreciate his Danish brother in arms, enemy, whatever they were. “A tad longer than two hours, maybe three. But the navy, almost going on five years.”

“Mm.”

Waiting for Castiel to continue yielded nothing. He just sighed as he looked out over the ocean. Now and then his gaze trailed over Dean. 

“You not much for talking. Is it a Danish thing?”

“It's a Castiel thing.” After a beat of silence, he continued. “Maybe it's a Danish thing. Went to the States once. Vacation I believe it was called before this life.” He smiled ruefully. “It's a beautiful country, had hills and mountains but the people were so... loud. Everything was great and amazing and bright. Everyone wanted to _talk_ , asked questions about Denmark and me, but they never really _listened_. Just interested in hearing their own voices and fawn over something exotic.” 

Dean scratched his chin as he clamped his mouth shut. He really wanted to take off his hat, his hair was itching like crazy but he was too warm and comfortable to move. Almost, he'd almost said that Cas was exotic. Maybe all those desolate hours alone before Cas had played a bigger number on him than he'd realized. “I'll listen. Tell me something about you. Or Denmark.”

“We're one of the happiest people in the world. There have been studies.” Cas chuckled at that as if he found it very amusing.

“You feel happy?”

Cas looked at him, really looked. It felt like he saw everything that Dean was with those piercing ocean blue eyes of his. They truly had the same color as the sea. For a moment, he saw those eyes narrowed and cold, brow furrowed in concentration and he knew, just knew, that he wouldn't want to meet Castiel on the battlefield. Sure, a part of him thought, that it would be a damn shame to snuff out a light as bright as his, but another part knew that if it came to that, he'd better act quickly before he got a bullet through him. Or a knife.

“At times. I feel content most of the time, but to be truly happy all the time? I don't know if that is possible. But we have a lot of things to be happy about.”

“We're one of the kindest.” Dean blurted out in some kind of weird urge to bang his patriotic drum.

“We pay a lot in taxes.”

Dean stopped. “Uh, how is that something to brag about? That's a given.”

“Some would say that it's foolhardy.” Cas shrugged as if that notion said more about them than him. “We are one of the most bicycle-friendly countries in the world.”

Dean fiddled with the tips of his gloves. “Wow, Cas. Really selling it in. Now I _have_ to go to Denmark.”

There was another gleam in Castiel's eyes, one that Dean quickly came to realize was born out of amusement. “We have more pigs than humans in the country.” There was a pregnant pause as if Cas wanted to say something else but was reigning himself in.

The gloves were definitely coming off, figuratively. It was still cold as fuck, so no way was he getting rid of those.

“We have universal healthcare.”

Castiel licked his lips. “Been there, done that. We have pölse.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Dean confessed.

Castiel turned his body, creating a space between them. The gap was small, but Dean found himself closing it, his leg resting against Castiel's. He didn't seem to mind. 

“It's a kind of sausage with red skin. National treasure. That and Lego.”

“Red skin, hmm. We have maple syrup and poutine. French fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Man, I'd rather eat that than these meal packs. Scalloped potatoes and ham is poor man's poutine. Is it even ham, I doubt it.”

Castiel pulled out his meal pack, flipping it over. “Chicken Biryani. I'll eat it.”

They dug into their gourmet food, which honestly wasn't that bad. It was like airplane food, the reputation was worse than the actual product. 

“So”, Castiel spoke after he'd devoured his meal and tucked away the empty pack, “what brings you here?”

Dean took a swig from his water bottle. “You mean here on this rock or here as in why I'm wearing this badge and very fashion faux pas pants?”

Castiel chuckled. “Whatever you feel inclined to answer.” He got up in one fluid motion. “Let's walk.”

The light had slowly dimmed and afternoon was upon them. Soon, darkness would settle and cast the whole island – rock – in darkness. Dean had his flashlights on him, and while they wouldn't do much they would at least illuminate the smooth path ahead of them. The last thing he needed was to slip on wet rock and break his neck. That would probably create all sorts of diplomatic issues.

“A boat brought me here.” Dean paused, wiping his face from the tiny droplets coating his skin. “But if you mean my uniform, let's just say it's a family business thing. My dad and his dad were high up in the ranks, so it was not even questioned that I should follow in their footsteps. My brother Sam, is the lost son, the one that got away.”

Castiel was silent, so much so that Dean suspected that he hadn't heard a damn thing but then he spoke, his voice loud to carry over the increasing wind.

“Yogurt.”

Dean wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Uh, did I hear that right? Yogurt? Yogurt what?”

“That's my reason for joining. See, back home I also have a family business. More of an empire really.” Castiel's mouth set in a grim line. He didn't seem all that pleased to be part of an empire. “The Novack's own the largest yogurt company in Denmark. They are also market leaders in Sweden and Norway. But the notion of creating more bacteria didn't have me jumping with joy. I'll leave that to Gabriel, Adam, Michael, and Anna.”

“Wow, your siblings, all of them?”

Castiel shook his head. “Yes. I'm not even the oldest one, so it's not like I'm in line to take over the throne.” He looked at Dean, a satisfied smile on his face. “Made my old man pissed though, so that's a win.”

“Don't we all want to piss off our fathers deep down?”

“Mm. I'd rather just forget about mine.” 

The clouds were looming on the horizon and with how the wind was blowing they shouldn't bear the brunt of what looked like oncoming rain. Casting a glance backward, Dean could see the flag but not make out any colors. “Let's head back. I wasn't planning on the ocean to slap me in the face when we can let the wind do that just fine.”

When they got back to the midpoint of the island, Castiel walked up and yanked up the flag with pole and all. “It's Denmark's time.” He shoved the Danish flag into the rock and handed the Canadian flag over to Dean. “You better take this back home, Dean, it won't be needed anymore.”

“You suggest Canada yield this territory?”

“I suggest you give up. You can't yield what you don't have.” He smiled. “Let's make this rock undisputedly Danish.”

Dean scratched his nose – as much as he could call it a scratch with a gloved hand – as he sat down. “What's in it for me?”

“All the Danish you can eat for a year.” 

Dean's eyes flitted over Castiel's face before he glanced away. His eyes were the same fucking color as the ocean. He was pretty sure Castiel didn't mean himself but spoke of the pastry, but now the thought was firmly embedded in Dean's mind. Him and Castiel, a soft proper bed and – 

“I think that's a fair deal.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, I don't know. It's not my call to make. Besides, I don't negotiate with terrorists.”

Castiel's lips pulled into a smile. It turned his already beautiful face into something stunning.”I'll toss in some world-famous butter too.”

“Butter and cake, well that seals the deal.”

“Good. This island is now the property of Denmark. We already have the flag to prove it.”

They passed the time talking about everything from favorite games to weird hobbies they'd tried.

“So that's how I came to produce knitted socks for the whole company. Not ideal in combat or training situations but nice when you want to cozy up,” Castiel finished. “They could even choose from four different color options.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “You're in the wrong business, Cas. I'll call you Cas. If that's alright?”

“It's fine. It's been really nice getting to know you, Dean. You're not bad for being Canadian.”

Snorting, Dean took another swipe of the whiskey. If he was staying on this miserable island, with not so miserable company frankly, he'd have the good alcohol, thank you very much. “I thought we Canadians have a good rep.”

“You do.” He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly relaxed as he looked over Dean up and down. “So you're not straight?” Castiel tossed out the question as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“What's it to you?” He swirled the bottle around, watching the liquid slosh around. He figured he should leave the rest be. It wasn't his but damn, it burned nicely on the way down. 

“Wanna go grab a Danish?” He looked at Dean, his gaze steady. 

Dean didn't mean to stammer but that's how it came out. “Y-y-you're asking me out? On a fucking date?”

“What? You're nice, we've talked about everything from _Barbie Girl_ – I apologize again on the behalf of the Danish people – to taxes and the importance of income equality. We've practically been speed dating... for hours. And you know the lifestyle. I'm not asking you to marry me. Just a date.”

“You're base is – “

“I'll be out in six months. I've given them enough.” Castiel shrugged. “Time to do something else. I'm on this island guarding a rock for what purposes?”

Dean hesitated. This was so wild that he had a hard time processing it. He glanced at his watch, surprised at all the hours that had passed. Only four hours to go and then he'd be gone. And so would Castiel. “Um...”

Castiel smirked. “Is that Canadian for yes? And you better hurry, I'm on the clock.” He looked out over the ocean briefly.

“Yeah? I mean, you're nice and all – “

“The clock, Dean. Here.” Castiel pulled off his gloves and scribbled something on a piece of paper that he pulled out of his jacket pocket. “Six months. But there is Internet, we can chat. Here's my number and email.” He flashed a smile. “I got to go now. Boat is calling.”

Dean grabbed the piece of paper. “You're leaving? You' only been here for eight hours, give or take.”

“I'm only stationed here for eight hours so that would be correct. You?”

“Twelve hours.” Dean was not sure how he'd managed to get a date with a Danish guy while guarding a rock but only an idiot would say no and Dean Winchester was no fucking idiot.

“I gotta' run. Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel paused. “I hope I don't get in trouble for this.”

“For what? Us dating?”

Castiel shook his head. “We'll officially start dating when I leave. And no, as for the trouble, I meant this.” A slow smile crept over his face. He bent down, grabbed the Canadian flag and started running. “Until we meet again, Dean,” he shouted.

Dean was so stunned that he only stood there and watched as Castiel headed for the beach and his rendezvous point. He could see the lights of the boat if he squinted but he was not paying the vessel any real attention.

The wind had picked up, hammering on Dean and trying to ease its way between layers of clothes. With a laugh, Dean grabbed the flagpole and gave it a shake. Satisfied that the pole was sturdy enough against the weathers, he grabbed the schnapps and left the Danish flag to its own devices, flapping in the wind. Goodbye, Pit.

He started walking out towards the island's edge. Four hours gave him plenty of time to think about what the fuck had just happened. Dean took a swallow of the Danish devil juice and laughed but the howling wind silenced him.

The rock was disputed but what had just happened was undisputedly the craziest thing that had happened to him. As he looked out over the stony island, smoothed over by centuries of wind, no trees in sight and the ocean constantly trying to engulf it with its salty waves, he shook his head.

Dean kind of liked this giant fucking rock in the middle of nowhere.


End file.
